


Coda: Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes

by sci_fis



Series: Season 12 Codas [3]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Coda, Episode Related, Episode Tag, Episode: s12e20 Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes, Hurt Sam, M/M, Worried Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-07
Updated: 2017-05-07
Packaged: 2018-10-29 04:41:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 753
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10846689
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sci_fis/pseuds/sci_fis
Summary: Written mostly because I'm so worried that Sam wouldn't wake up at the end of 12.20. *chews nails*





	Coda: Twigs and Twine and Tasha Banes

**Author's Note:**

> Written mostly because I'm so worried that Sam wouldn't wake up at the end of 12.20. *chews nails*

It turns out Sam has a concussion.

Of course he does.

Dean’s heart rate still hasn't quite recovered from hearing Sam scream his name back at the house, and now he has to stand by and watch as blue-scrubbed medical orderlies take his little brother away into an MRI unit Dean isn't allowed in.

“All clear,” a salt-and-pepper-haired doctor tells him a never-ending hour later. “Your brother has just a mild concussion, but it’s good that you brought him in when you did.”

“I… he was…” Dean, weak with relief, can barely find words. “He wouldn’t wake up.”

“Well, he’s awake now. And asking for you.”

 

*

 

“Sammy?”

“Dean,” Sam says. He’s propped up on two pillows, tubes snaking into his arm. “I’m sorry.”

Dean takes his free hand, sitting down at the edge of the bed. “What for?”

“I dunno.” Sam shrugs. “Being a nuisance. Making you worry.”

“Hey,” Dean says, smoothing Sam’s hair back from his forehead to make room for his lips. “None of that.” He speaks against Sam’s temple, letting his lips linger.

“Why’d you bring me here?” Sam asks, looking around. He squeezes Dean’s hand to acknowledge the show of affection.

“I couldn’t wake you, man. Not until we were right outside the ER.”

“So you should've driven away then. We don’t do hospitals, Dean. You know that. Not unless someone’s dying.”

Dean shakes his head, determined to be obstinate about this. “Better safe than not. _You_ know that.”

“You worry too much,” Sam mutters, struggling to sit up, letting his bangs fall into his eyes, as though he could ever hide anything from Dean.

Dean doesn’t ask him not to try to get up; his little brother can be just as stubborn as Dean when he wants to be. Instead, he wraps his arm around Sam’s shoulders, quietly worrying at how slender Sam feels. Kid needs a lot more feeding up and TLC than Dean’s been giving him lately, and he silently vows to take better care of Sam.

“Dean,” Sam says, demanding his attention by tugging at the hand still entangled with Dean’s, as though he isn’t Dean’s whole world already.

“Yeah,” Dean says, sensing that this isn’t the first time Sam’s said his name.

“Did Mom call back?”

“She left a couple voice mails. Said something’s not right. I can’t get through to her.”

“Check my phone.”

“I did. Nothing.”

Sam lets out a quiet, soft sigh, leaning his forehead against Dean’s shoulder, and Dean wishes bitterly that once, just one damned time, the world would leave them alone long enough for him to take care of Sam the way he deserves to be taken care of. (He still can't bring himself to look directly at the bruises around Sam's neck from where his kid was almost strangled to death because Dean wasn't there to look out for him.)

“Thirsty,” Sam says, and Dean disentangles them long enough to pick up the bottle of water on the tray beside the bed. It’s a small enough thing, but he should have known to offer Sam the water before he had to ask: just another way in which he’s let Sam down.

“Let’s go find her,” Sam says after draining half the bottle, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

Dean sits down again, scrubbing a hand over his face. “Where? We haven't the faintest. And we need to get you home and in bed.”

“Is that an invitation?” 

Dean’s head jerks up at that. Sam’s looking at him, his eyes clear, the corner of his lips lifted slightly in a gesture that Dean has been able to recognize instantly since Sam was around fourteen and insisted on starting this thing between them.

“Sammy,” he says, tiredness making him helpless. “You… you’re fucking _concussed_.”

“And you’re so easy to get a rise out of,” Sam says with a wink. “Besides, don’t they say you should stay awake when you have a concussion?”

“Brat,” Dean says. He nods at the drip attached to Sam’s vein. “We’re staying till that’s done.”

“You’re no fun,” Sam murmurs, leaning into Dean again. He slides his free hand up Dean’s back, settling it on top of Dean’s head, as though Dean’s the one who needs to be cared for. He nuzzles at Dean’s face until Dean gets with the program, and their mouths slot together, soft and needy. 

“We’ll find her,” Sam whispers between gentle kisses, his fingers never leaving Dean’s hair. “We’ll figure it out. Just like we always do.”


End file.
